Birthday Gifts
by tir-synni
Summary: Edward doesn't care that Mustang's birthday is coming up, he doesn't care that he didn't get him a gift, and he definitely doesn't care about who else got Mustang gifts.  RoyEd


Title: Birthday Gifts  
Rating: PG  
Pairing: Roy/Ed  
Warnings: maybe slight manga spoilers, Ed's mouth, and I think that's about it  
A/N: Written for kytyngurl2's birthday on livejournal. Bunny generously donated by sky-dark.

"What's the matter, Fullmetal? Ah. Well, I see why you would be fascinated: It _is_ twice your size."

It was a testament to Edward Elric's new maturity (and newfound confidence thanks to a handful of inches) that he didn't begin screaming at the Fuhrer for the comment. Instead, he tore his gaze away from the stack of birthday gifts in the corner to glare at Roy Mustang's smirking face. "Just wondering when you changed from sexual favors to real gifts, _Sir_," he retorted.

If anything, Mustang's smirk only widened at the comment. Sitting with his elbows propped on his desk, Mustang leaned back in his chair. "Some sacrifices must be made when one rises in rank," he returned easily. "But you have yet to answer my question."

At times like this, it was difficult for Edward to remember the war, when he and the then Colonel fought together to defeat the homunculi and their creator. True, Mustang had new lines around his mouth and eyes and the glitter in his eyes was harder, but he taunted Edward just like he did before the introduction of the homunculi. Edward also wanted to punch Mustang like he had desired before the introduction of the homunculi.

"Fullmetal?" Mustang prodded, and Edward slouched in his chair.

"I see you every other day of the week," Edward pointed out. "Why do I need to go to your birthday party?"

Hell, it wasn't even a birthday party! It was a damned executive party!

Even as Mustang sighed—Edward couldn't tell if the exasperation in it was feigned or not—he tried to catch the blond's eyes. Edward preferred to glare at the gifts. What was the point in that fucking display? Edward doubted Mustang even cared about the gifts: They were just shows of prestige. With just a glance, Edward could see the names of some of the givers, ranging from generals to—the blond wrinkled his nose—Emperor Ling of Xing. How arrogant.

"It would be good for you to socialize," Mustang replied. Edward clenched his flesh fist in his lap. "You are rather . . . _alienated_ from your peers, Fullmetal. You're up for a promotion to colonel. You should act the part."

Sometimes, Edward missed Colonel Mustang. Perhaps it had only been the war, but for a little while, they had been _close_. With that intimacy and the danger in the air, it had been so _easy_ to—

No. It had just been the war.

"May I be dismissed, Sir?" Edward gritted out. Of course a female general's present would be right on top.

Edward could feel the man staring at him. However, all Mustang said was, "Dismissed, Fullmetal."

As Edward stalked out of the office, Mustang shouted after him, "See you Saturday, Fullmetal!"

Alphonse met Edward outside the building. Edward took a moment to admire his brother's human body, with Alphonse's long blond hair caught in a ponytail and those gentle, affectionate eyes, before walking to his brother's side. Even after all these months, he still couldn't help but feel a thrill at the sight. He had _known_ it, _known_ it during those long years of searching that his brother's body would be perfect. Sometimes, it made him more conscious of his own glaring imperfections, but it was still worth it.

Alphonse clasped Edward's arm and walked beside him. As Edward still was amazed by his brother's appearance, Alphonse was still thrilled with physical sensations and rarely needed a reason to touch his older brother.

"Why did the Fuhrer wish to speak with you?" Alphonse inquired, steps silent beside Edward's clunking boots.

Edward's unconscious smile faded. "He wants me to go to that damned party this Saturday," he replied flatly. He felt eyes on them as they walked, and he glared at any fool who dared to stare at his brother. More than one passerby flinched and looked away. Alphonse didn't seem to notice.

"You mean the party that you've been invited to for over a month?" Alphonse asked, eyes shimmering with amusement. "The one with the pretty invitations? The invitations that all mysteriously end up—"

"Yes, that damned party," Edward cut off irritably. "I'd prefer to stay home and play chess with you than watch him prance all night." Abruptly, Edward envisioned Mustang flitting from guest to guest, his voice high and lilting as he asked how they were doing. Alphonse only shook his head and kept walking, not asking why his brother was suddenly snickering.

"I'm sure you'll have fun, Brother," Alphonse soothed, turning towards the street where they lived. They lived close enough to the base that Edward didn't have to worry about driving (at almost everyone's insistence), and Mustang regularly reminded Edward that he had no reason to skip work due to weather or other annoyances. Unfortunately, there were still plenty of alleys on the way, and Edward tightened his grip on his brother's arm as Alphonse stared longingly into an alley.

"We have three kittens already, Al," Edward scolded him. He carefully looked forward so as to avoid his brother's pout.

After a moment, Alphonse switched back to the original subject. "What are you getting him for his birthday? You haven't bought anything yet, have you?"

Edward remembered that pile of gifts in the corner and scowled. Some corner of his mind wondered how many more were at the Fuhrer's home, how many were political gifts, and how many were personal gifts.

"That's a no," Alphonse said with a sigh, pulling at Edward's arm. It took the older blond a moment to realize they were home. Thanks to some slight alchemical experimentation and some quick thinking on the Fuhrer's part, the small building was slightly separated from the other buildings on the street. That suited both alchemists perfectly, and Edward took a moment to smirk at the grass figures on their yard before Alphonse dragged him into the house. Instantly, three shrill meows greeted them.

While Alphonse said hello to Cinnamon, Fluffy, and Dipshit (he still regretted allowing Ed to name one), Edward tossed his coat onto the back of the sofa and threw himself onto the cushions. He was heavily contemplating sleep when Alphonse sat beside his head. "Do you have any idea what you're going to get him for his birthday?"

Edward might have been annoyed with Alphonse if his little brother hadn't unbraided his hair and started running his fingers through it.

"I'm not going to get him anything," Edward retorted, his eyes involuntarily slipping shut. He resisted the urge to moan as Alphonse generously scratched his scalp. "He has enough gifts. I don't need to waste my time or money on him." _General Mariah Thomas has probably wasted enough for both of us._

Alphonse sighed heavily, but since he didn't stop scratching, Edward couldn't bring himself to care. He stretched, his beautiful extra inches carrying his feet off the edge of the couch. "You really should get him a gift, Brother. If you don't want to buy a gift, you could make one."

_And add another gift to that damned pile? No way._ "I may have to go to that party, but I don't have to get him a gift. Let the rest of the guests get him a gift."

Edward smiled a little when Alphonse leaned down and rubbed his cheek against Edward's, much like the cats currently purring by Alphonse's feet. "So you aren't going to get him anything?" The skepticism in Alphonse's voice coaxed Edward's eyes open.

"No," Ed replied suspiciously. "Why?"

Alphonse only smiled sweetly and stroked Edward's hair. "No reason. Would you like sandwiches for lunch?"

xoxoxox

Every day that week, Mustang found some reason to call Edward to his office, as if taunting him with that pile of gifts. General Mariah Thomas silently mocked him, her grey wrapping paper and silver bow laughing at his frustration. Masochistically, Edward wondered what was inside the package. Was it a political gift or a personal one and he wished wished _wished_ he didn't know why he cared. As the day of the party grew closer, Edward grew terser, until even Mustang stopped teasing him about the party. Alphonse didn't ask about the gift again, but there was an oddly _knowing_ glint in his little brother's eyes that did nothing to improve Ed's mood. By the time the day of the party arrived, Edward was exhausted.

"I'm sure Fuhrer Mustang doesn't expect you to stay for long, Brother," Alphonse soothed him, quickly braiding Edward's long golden hair. After Alphonse finished, he pet his brother's braid where it laid heavily on Edward's black coat. "Just go, do what you need to do, and come back. After this is over, things will be much easier."

Edward groaned and leaned his head back. Obligingly, Alphonse moved so Edward's head rested on his shoulder. "Yeah. He'll stop bugging me about the party." _And the damned pile will be gone._

Affectionately, Alphonse kissed his brother's temple before stepping back. Edward reluctantly straightened. He only rolled his eyes when Alphonse grabbed his hand and turned him around for inspection. Alphonse's face lit up.

"You'll knock him dead, Brother," Alphonse said happily. He only smiled at Edward's baffled look and started shooing his brother towards the door. "I'll have a pot of tea ready for you when you get home. Don't stay out too late. If for . . . various reasons you can't come back by midnight, have someone drive you home or call to tell me you're staying over there. Have fun!"

When Edward arrived at Fuhrer Mustang's home, he was still blinking with confusion. Sometimes, he couldn't help but wonder if his little brother was more affected by the trauma of the war than he had originally thought.

A young lady that Edward remembered seeing around the office opened the door for Edward and took his coat. Wondering if she was related to the mysterious General Thomas (after this was all over he was going to search through the records to find out _exactly_ why her gift was on top of the pile), Edward nodded at her and mumbled something he hoped sounded pleasant before searching for the food table. Unfortunately, all he saw were people in various uniforms. It reminded him of his own lack of uniform, and Edward ran his gloves over his outfit before creeping towards the wall.

He had been in Mustang's home before. When Edward had returned from leave after the war, helping Mustang move in had been his first assignment. The bastard had even made it official, complete with paperwork. That fact helped him twofold: It kept the house's size from intimidating him, and he knew where the library was. Dutifully, he looked around to see if he recognized anyone (ack! ack! Armstrong sighting!). Seeing no sign of Mustang and tensing at the sight of so many uniforms, Ed walked out of the main room in the direction of the library. If he remembered correctly, Mustang had only told him to come to the party: He had never specified what Edward was supposed to do when he got there.

As he walked down the halls, traffic all but vanished. Edward sighed, feeling the tension leaving his muscles. The soft carpet quieted his steps, and Edward allowed himself to relax.

_I don't see why I need to come to these things anyway. _His nose caught the scent of books before his eyes saw the library door, and Edward hurried his steps. _I don't **mingle**. It's not like I want the promotion. I just want. . . ._ Shaking his head, Edward opened the library door and slipped inside. As expected, the library was empty, and Edward allowed a small smile to tease his lips. No party compared to this.

Edward had barely gotten comfortable with one of Mustang's books (_Chimeri and You: What You Need to Know)_ when he heard that damned familiar voice. "I knew you would find your way here, Fullmetal."

Barely holding back a growl, Edward looked up—and quickly looked away again. Last time he had seen Mustang in full dress uniform, it had been when he had become Fuhrer. He stared instead at the funny little stick figures running away from the massive stick figure on the page. "You didn't think I was actually going to hang out at the _party_, did you?" Edward scoffed.

"You're dressed for the part, aren't you?" Mustang retorted, and Edward flushed, looking down at his clothes. Last time he would let Alphonse dress him. He tried not to think too hard about the unexpected intensity in Mustang's voice.

"Al," he replied, knowing that would answer all.

Mustang hummed, and Edward scowled. "Aren't you supposed to be out mingling?" he gritted out. Every muscle snapped to attention when Mustang rested his hand on Edward's shoulder.

"Probably," he agreed. Mustang rubbed his shoulder once before snatching his hand back. "Are you coming?"

Edward's glare returned to the stick figures. How realistic. It even showed one tripping. "Who is Mariah Thomas?"

He had meant to ask when he could leave, but Mustang's bewildered silence made him feel better about his slip.

"A general I occasionally worked with in East City," Mustang answered after a long moment. "He was among my most avid supporters when I became Fuhrer."

"He?" Edward echoed, turning in his chair. He almost turned back to his book again when Mustang's smoldering eyes met his, but he only took a deep breath and straightened his back.

"He," Mustang confirmed, dark eyes narrowing. "Fullmetal—"

Edward bet that no one else's gift made Mustang's breath catch or body freeze or coax that oddly sexy sound from the back of his throat. Ed kept that fact close to his heart as he gently nipped Mustang's lips one last time and pulled away.

The stunned, heated look in Mustang's eyes made him feel better about that slip, too.

"Just making sure no one from your black book was on top of your gift pile," Edward retorted, proud of his even voice as he walked towards the library door. _Chimeri and You_ and Mustang were both open and frozen behind him. "Happy birthday, shit Fuhrer."

On the way home, a split second before his feet lost coordination and his face desired a meeting with the sidewalk, every single one of Alphonse's comments made sense. It was for the best that only the sidewalk could hear Edward after that.

Omake:

Mustang: clears throat Full—eh—Edward, may I show you my— Edward? Edward?

Library: silence

Mustang: headdesks Dammit! Now what am I supposed to do with the handcuffs?


End file.
